After Life's Fitful Fever He Sleeps Well.

I And My Bosom Must Debate Awhile, And Then I Would No Other Company.

Profit Is A Blessing, If It's Not Stolen.

Take No Repulse, Whatever She Doth Say; For 'get You Gone,' She Doth Not Mean 'away.' Flatter And Praise, Commend, Extol Their Graces; Though Ne'er So Black, Say They Have Angels' Faces

One Man In His Time Plays Many Parts.

Steed Threatens Steed, In High And Boastful Neighs Piercing The Night's Dull Ear; And From The Tents The Armorers Accomplishing The Knights, With Busy Hammers Closing Rivets Up, Give Dreadful Note Of Preparation.